" "I cannot repent,—I cannot pray," replied Jack, recovering his hardened demeanour. Hang the wench! Roding was right. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. Wild in his own domain. I've sent for the priest. “It seems so unfair,” she said, “to take all you offer me and give so little in return. While he was stirring his tea, she ran and fetched the comb.
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